


Unbreakable

by Ronin



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronin/pseuds/Ronin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time spent in prison is never pleasant. Time spent in Galbadia's notorious D-District Prison, is Hell. </p><p>There is more than one way to break a SeeD, and the D-District Prison's warden knows them all. At his hands, Squall learns what his limits are. </p><p>No one is unbreakable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbreakable

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in-game during the D-district prison sequence, and some of the dialogue is taken from the game itself. it's actually surprisingly difficult to weave that into a story and make it all work stylistically.

The warden watched as Edea’s Knight, or _puppet_ , flipped the switch again, sending a spitting arc of electricity into the body of the young man that was currently shackled to the power grid on the wall. His body arched and convulsed as he screamed in pain before the power was cut and he slumped limply against his restraints, panting. 

The young man, boy really, remained mostly silent as Seifer interrogated him. Sometimes he’d give random, nonsensical answers that were obviously lies. Sometimes he’d claim ignorance of the information Seifer sought. Each time, when he refused to give the knight the information he wanted, he received another jolt of electricity. 

The knight interrogated him one last time, frustration evident in his voice. The SeeD simply whispered, “Let me die.” Another flip of the switch, for longer this time, produced nothing more than screams before the power was cut and the boy slumped as though dead. He wasn’t though. The warden could see the young man still breathing, though he was unresponsive. Unconscious. 

The warden snorted in derision as Seifer made some excuse and left, anger evident in his actions. He didn’t think Sorceress Edea’s toy… _knight_ …would be able to crack a SeeD _that_ easily. Even as young as this SeeD was, he _had_ to have been trained to handle torture. And Seifer was obviously an amateur at interrogation; his repertoire was limited to barking the same question over and over and resorting to the same methods. 

The warden had _years_ more experience in extracting information from people. There was more than one type of torture that could be used, more than one way to obtain information from someone that wasn’t willing to give it up. There was more than one way to break a SeeD. And some of those ways could even be…. fun. For _him_ , anyway.

He studied the young man with a predatory gleam in his eye. The young SeeD was…beautiful. There was really no other way to describe him. The scar marring his face saved his delicate features from being too feminine, but only just. At the moment, they were obscured by the thick shock of silky coppery-brown hair that flopped over his face. He still slumped against his restraints, head hanging limply, still unconscious. 

The warden turned and engaged the lock on the door to the chamber, then approached the prisoner.

Seizing the SeeD by the hair, he pulled his head up until he could see the boy’s closed eyes. Peering into his face, the warden had a mad urge to kiss those soft-looking, slightly parted lips. His mouth went dry and he promised himself: _later, if he manages to live that long…_

But first… the warden slapped at the young SeeD’s face, attempting to wake him. The prisoner shifted slightly and moaned, then opened his eyes. His beautiful, turquoise colored eyes focused with difficulty upon his captor.

“Ready to talk?” The warden asked. 

 

*************************************************************************************************************************************** 

 

Squall blinked his blurring eyes and focused on the face of the man currently holding him by the hair. Pain burned like fire through his body, nerve endings fried by repeated jolts of electricity throbbed in hot agony at the slightest touch. It took a minute for his pain-fogged brain to register and understand what the man had asked him. 

_Ready to talk?_ He’d asked. Talk about what? He didn’t know the answers to the questions that were being asked. Even if he _did_ , he wouldn’t tell _him_. 

With great difficulty he said, “I…don’t understand…the question…”

“Don’t mess with me! Edea says you know something! Now spit it out! Talk! What is SeeD all about?” The warden demanded. Of course, he knew that simply demanding to be answered would accomplish little. It was all part of the game. As was the boy’s response. 

Just for fun, he gave the prisoner another jolt, just to remind him who had the upper hand. 

Squall flung his head back, screaming in pain as the electricity caused his body to convulse uncontrollably. It burned through his nerve endings for an eternal instant, leaving him limp, trembling, sobbing for breath. 

_SeeD... Aren't we... mercenaries...from Balamb Garden... Special forces...?_ Squall thought. Why did the guy keep asking questions? He didn’t know anything more than what he’d been ordered, and they already knew that. If there was some kind of secret mission or ultimate purpose for SeeD, they hadn’t told _him_ about it. 

Squall’s mind drifted in a fog of pain, and he hoped that the warden would just get it over with and kill him already. Maybe if he insulted the guy and pissed him off enough, he’d go ahead and do it.

Instead, the warden seized his chin and lifted his head, forcing him to look at him, and grated, “Hm? Yeah? So?”

_I…I don’t know any…anything...w-why…do you…keep…asking…me…_

“Just…let me die…” Squall whispered weakly.

The warden put his face closer and asked, “What’s that?” 

The man’s breath was foul, fetid and sour with cigarette smoke, coffee, and whatever he’d eaten for lunch that day. Squall wanted to spit at him, and wondered if that would be insult enough to goad the man into killing him. He hoped so. 

So he did, prompting the warden to slap him hard across the face, leaving him dazed, his head spinning. Then the man grabbed him by the throat and put his face right up to him, opening his mouth to shout something threatening at him, Squall was sure. 

Before he could, Squall managed, “Your…” 

The warden frowned, cocking his head, the better to hear Squall’s whisper, prompting him, “What did you say?”

Squall tried again, mumbling, “Your… breath…st...stin...stinks!” As the man’s face colored in rage, Squall almost smiled. That ought to do it. The bastard would kill him and Squall’s mission would be over. 

“Punk…” the warden snarled. “You asked for it!” He flipped the switch again and watched as the young SeeD cried out again while the electricity burned him. His cries were growing weaker however. The warden wondered how much more the guy could endure. He didn’t want to kill him just yet. He had _plans_ for him.

“How’s that?” he taunted, “How do you like me now, huh?” He cut the power when the young SeeD slumped limply in his restraints. He checked him over and found him still breathing, his heart still beating, and decided to leave him alone for the time being. 

“Tch! Completely knocked out cold.” The warden said. Catching sight of a couple of moombas standing nearby, he ordered, “Hey, you two moombas! Watch him!” 

He left the prisoner shackled to the wall, and checked his watch. He’d give the SeeD about twenty or so minutes to recover. Then he’d be back. He smiled in anticipation, wiping the spittle from his face where Squall had spat on him. He _wanted_ his prisoner to recover some of his fighting spirit. Wanted him rested and ready. The next stage in his interrogation plans would be _much_ more fun if the prisoner fought back.

 

***************************************************************************************************************************************

 

After Squall had insulted the warden, the man flipped the switch one more time and Squall really hoped it would be the last time. He writhed and screamed hoarsely as the pain ripped through him, and he felt oblivion beckoning. 

_Good night..._ he thought, as he faded into blackness. He drifted there, insensible, and wondered if he was dead, and if blackness was all that was left when one’s life was over. If so, he figured he’d be okay with it. At least he didn’t hurt anymore.

_“As SeeDs, if you are taken prisoner, you may experience torture. There are several techniques one can use in order to deal with it. Keep in mind: NO one is unbreakable. Everybody has a breaking point. There is no shame in this. With that in mind however, your job is to either make sure that you lie enough to instill doubt in your captor’s minds, or to anger them enough to force them to kill you. Lying will muddy the waters, so that when you DO tell them what they want to know, they will not recognize it and doubt its veracity. The other option, if the opportunity to commit suicide is not available to you, is to find a way to insult or anger your captor enough that he kills you out of rage, thus nullifying your value as a prisoner. ”_

A memory. A senior level class he’d taken, a requirement before he would be eligible for the field exam. They had stopped just short of actually _torturing_ anybody there, but they _did_ do an exercise that required everyone to find their own threshold of pain, and learn how to manage it. Of course, the exercise was stopped the moment the student screamed, and a notation was made as to how long it had taken to reach that point. The entire class had to go through it, and no few students dropped out rather than continue in their quest to become SeeDs. 

Squall was perversely proud that he’d lasted the longest out of all of them. 

_“If you are captured, if you remember nothing else, remember this: always attempt to escape first. If you cannot escape, then commit suicide. If neither of those options is available, and you are tortured, tell them only your name, rank and ID number, lie often and inventively, and if possible, force them to kill you. Remember: you are SeeDs. Tell them NOTHING.”_

Well, Squall had certainly done that. Of course, since he didn’t know anything to begin with, he couldn’t consider that much of an achievement. Then he wondered if death was simply going to consist of a replay of his life up to this point. If it was, it was going to be really boring.

Awareness returned gradually, brought on by squeaks and snuffles close by. Along with awareness came pain, and Squall groaned. _Dammit_. He hadn’t died after all. That disappointed him; he’d really thought he’d gotten the warden mad enough to kill him. 

More snuffles as something furry sniffed at his shackled and bleeding wrists prompted Squall to open his eyes to see what it was. He sighed in relief at seeing that it was one of those lion-like moomba creatures, rather than a rat, as he had feared. Then he jerked, gasping in pain as the creature licked at the blood, sending rivers of fire through Squall’s nerve endings. 

The moomba stopped and gazed at him solemnly, ruby eyes glittering, then it squeaked, “Laguna!”

“NnnnGraaa… Graaaaa..” the other moomba disagreed. 

“Laguna!” the first one insisted. An intense, squeaking argument followed, then both moombas fell silent and studied Squall. 

Squall felt the darkness pulling at him again, and wondered if maybe he was simply hallucinating and was actually dying after all. If so, he hoped it would hurry up and happen already. 

As unconsciousness claimed him once again, Squall’s last thoughts were of Balamb Garden, his client Rinoa, and his squad, and how he’d been a complete and utter failure as a SeeD. Now everyone was going to die, because he’d failed. 

***************************************************************************************************************************************

 

When the warden returned, Squall was still unconscious. He was briefly disappointed that the SeeD wasn’t quite as tough as he’d hoped and had succumbed to the effects of his torture after all. It happened. Sometimes the heart simply gave out after so many electric shocks. 

Upon closer inspection however, the warden confirmed that Squall was still alive, just out cold still. Good. That meant that he’d had a good, long rest and would hopefully have regained some of his fight. It was time to find out.

“Wake up.” The warden ordered, slapping Squall lightly. Squall jerked his head back, gasping in pain, and blinked at the warden. 

“It’s time to move on to phase two of the interrogation. You ready to talk yet?” the warden asked. Squall simply stared at him, expression blank. 

“I thought not. I was hoping you’d do exactly that. Now I get to move on to more _interesting_ methods of extracting information.” The warden said, taking off his hat, his uniform coat, and his shirt, folding them carefully and laying them aside. 

Squall watched him dully, wondering why the man was stripping to the waist. His confusion deepened when the warden suddenly unlocked the shackles at his hands and feet, causing him to fall to the floor. 

He lay still, groaning in pain, while the warden watched him expectantly. Slowly, he raised himself to his hands and knees, panting. He’d been released. What did the warden want with him? Squall simply stared at the floor, wondering, and damned if his brain didn’t start working again. 

_Some new type of torture, I’ll bet._ Squall thought, and took stock of his status. Physically, he’d been weakened pretty significantly by the electroshock. In addition, even the slightest touch sent pain rocketing through him. Still, he wasn’t restrained, and while he was unarmed, he _had_ been trained in basic hand-to-hand combat as well. 

While he didn’t think he had much left in him to fight with, if he attacked the warden, he might catch him by surprise and manage to win free, or force the man to kill him once and for all. Either way, his torture would end.

Two possible outcomes: escape, or death. At this point, Squall was fine with either result. So thinking, he gathered himself, then launched an explosive attack, surprising the warden. 

He slammed into the warden’s body, jabbing hard at the lower abdomen and floating ribs even as they both fell to the floor. The warden reached up and grabbed Squall by the throat in response, and landed a solid punch to the jaw, stunning him. The warden then flung Squall off him and rolled to his feet. Squall groaned, teeth clenched against the pain, and slowly began to climb to his feet as well.

“I was hoping you’d do that boy. Looks like you’ve still got a little fight left. Good. I love a good fight.” The warden said with a predatory smile. Then he beckoned, saying, “Come on. Show me what you got. Give me your best shot.”

Squall launched himself at the warden with a snarl, fists flying. The warden ducked his first and second swing and countered with a punch to the gut that doubled Squall over. Then he kneed Squall sharply in the groin, causing him to fall to the ground retching and coughing.

“Is that all you’ve got? I’m disappointed. I thought SeeDs were tougher than that. Come on boy! Bring it on!” the warden shouted at him, goading him into another attack. 

Squall staggered to his feet, vision clouded by a red haze of pain, and he brought his fists up again. It was no different, he reflected, than any of the numerous times that he and Seifer had fought. He’d get knocked down, and he’d keep getting up until someone either stopped the fight or Seifer hit him hard enough that he _couldn’t_ get up. But he wouldn’t stop. He’d _never_ stop. 

Not until the warden killed him or his own body gave out. Until then, while Squall could still breathe and still move, he’d fight.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and when it did and he got a clear view of his opponent, he attacked again. Another one-two punch to the body put him on the ground again. Never once did he stop to wonder why the warden was not attacking _him_. He was simply countering Squall’s attacks, blocking his blows and landing ones of his own, mainly to the body. He avoided Squall’s face as much as possible, and for a very specific reason. 

He didn’t want to do _too_ much damage to that pretty face, wanted to enjoy looking at it while he systematically beat him down until he couldn’t fight any longer. 

Squall gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and clutched at the floor, panting and gathering his strength for one last, desperate attack. He tried, Gods, he tried. But he had nothing left. 

Seeing that Squall was unable to rise, the warden knelt down next to him and grabbed his hair, forcing Squall to look at him. 

“Looks like you’ve had enough. Pity. I was just starting to have fun.” The warden let him go and smoothed his hand over Squall’s hair, running his finger along his cheek. Squall gasped and shied away, and the warden smiled.

“It looks like you’re experiencing one of the more common side effects of electroshock.” He said conversationally. “The nerves become hypersensitive from the over-stimulation. Even the slightest touch to bare skin can be agonizing.” Then his voice dropped to a whisper, the tone of which sent chills up Squall’s spine. “This is going to be so much _fun_.”

Squall couldn’t help a shudder at the man’s laugh. Then dread began to pool like icy lead in his guts as he saw the nasty, predatory look in the man’s eyes. But he didn’t understand fully what that look portended until the man started to undress him. 

Fear seized Squall by the throat and gave him renewed strength with which to fight. He kicked out, knocking the warden back, and scrambled away, eyes wild. The man had gotten Squall’s jacket and shirt off, and he shivered, pressing himself against the cold, rusted metal of the wall and trying to use it as a support to help him get to his feet. 

The moment he did however, the warden was on him again, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him back against the wall. Pain shot through him and he cried out, shuddering and clawing at the warden’s hand as it gradually tightened around his neck. 

Leaning in close to Squall’s face, the warden whispered, “I’ll make the pain stop if you tell me what I want to know. If you don’t, I’ll make you _beg_ for death, and then I’ll leave you to die in agony.” 

Squall shuddered again as the warden ran his tongue up his face from his chin to his cheek, and he jerked his head away, squeezing his eyes shut in disgust. Even that light touch shot rivers of fire up the side of his face. 

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” the warden whispered in his ear, loosening his grip on Squall’s throat, running his other hand down Squall’s chest, probing at the ribs that he knew were broken. Squall writhed in his grasp, trying to edge away from that contact, groaning. 

“Every touch, burning like fire. Stabbing like knives.” The warden continued, his touch almost gentle. It made the short, sharp punch he delivered to Squall’s gut that much more of a surprise. 

Still held pinned to the wall by the warden’s hand at his throat, Squall could only gasp and choke, retching from the pain, sobbing for air. Wishing with every fiber of his being that he would simply die. Unfortunately, his heart kept stubbornly beating, and his lungs kept stubbornly drawing in air, wheezing past the grip that the warden had on him.

“Are you going to talk _now?_ ” the warden asked him, hand sneaking down to unbutton the top of his pants. He was so hard and turned on now, he could barely stand it. It wouldn’t be long before he was satisfied.

Squall simply gasped, vision fading in and out from fatigue and pain. He worked his lips but couldn’t draw in enough air to actually say anything. Black spots danced before his eyes and his hands slipped from the desperate grip that they’d had upon the warden’s hand. 

When Squall’s eyes began to glaze, the warden let go of his throat, transferring his hand to Squall’s chest, still pressing him into the wall. And he waited. 

Squall dragged in an unobstructed breath, and his vision began to clear. He focused upon the warden, upon the expectant expression on his face…

Licking his dry lips, Squall whispered hoarsely, “S-Squall Leonhart…SeeD…Level fif…fifteen. Squad leader….ID number…41269.”

The warden snarled in rage and grabbed Squall by his shoulders, spinning him around and slamming him into the cold steel wall, eliciting another cry from him. Then he grabbed his hair and shoved his face into the steel as well. Twisting Squall’s arm up behind his back, the warden kept him pinned while his other hand worked busily at the fastenings on both his and Squall’s trousers. 

Adrift in a sea of pain and nearly insensible, Squall was not cognizant of the warden’s intent until it was too late. He was held pinned and immobile, helpless against the warden’s assault. The pain robbed him of his breath, while the violation burned through his mind and soul. He couldn’t scream, it was a fight just to breathe as the warden raped him. Inwardly he was sobbing like a child, but he was beyond tears. 

He wanted to throw up at the smell of the warden’s sour breath, puffing hotly against his cheek. Each rough thrust slammed him against the wall, increasing his agony until all he knew was pain. As bad as that was however, the shame he felt, the humiliation at being so helpless against such an unwanted invasion of his person, was infinitely worse. 

Another rough thrust slammed Squall’s head against the wall adding more pain to his agonies, and he finally threw up, his convulsive retching increasing the warden’s enjoyment of his sick act. 

Finally he stiffened, pressing himself against Squall’s back, breathing heavily and whispering hoarsely, “I think I’ll keep you alive for awhile longer boy…I haven’t had a bitch as pretty as you in a _long_ time.” 

He loosened his grip on Squall’s arm, but kept his body pressed against him, his face next to Squall’s, and kissed him gently on the cheek. Then he pulled out and released Squall, who immediately fell limply to the floor, curled into a fetal position, and lay still.

Darkness finally came and Squall escaped into it gratefully, trying to retreat from the waking nightmare he was enduring. For a moment at least, he found peace. But he still didn’t die, and he knew that even if he had begged, the warden wouldn’t have killed him. 

The warden rearranged his and Squall’s clothing, even going so far as to put Squall’s shirt and jacket back onto his unresisting body. 

“Nobody has to know about this but us.” The warden whispered, finally leaning down to kiss Squall’s cold lips. “This will be our secret.” He left Squall lying senseless on his back on the floor of the cell. 

**************************************************************************************************************************************

 

Quistis, Selphie and Zell found him there when they finally managed to escape, waking him and helping him to his feet. They frowned in concern, taking in his battered appearance, and asked the inevitable questions regarding it.

The only thing he would say about what he’d endured was “It was hell.”

And the look in his eyes when Zell handed him back his gunblade, made the girls exchange a worried glance, while Zell shuddered. He was still hurt, and still weak, but they got lucky when the first guard that Squall killed during their escape happened to have a healing potion on him. 

He drank it down and sighed as at least _some_ of his pain eased. Then he led his comrades as they fought their way out of the prison, cutting down anything in his path with chilling ferocity. He battled so fiercely that his companions feared at first that he’d had a berserk spell cast upon him; their only reassurance that he had not was the fact that he hadn’t turned his rage upon _them_.

They got separated briefly as they battled their way up the levels, and Zell ran afoul of the warden. Squall saw them, saw the warden raise his gun, ready to shoot Zell dead. He leaped in and cut down the warden with a single swipe, then charged after the other guards that were with him, killing them both as well. 

Zell flung himself at Squall in relief, hugging him around the waist. Squall shrank back at the contact, only just managing not to shudder, and clamped his lips shut to hold in his groan of pain. 

“Squall! Thanks man!” Zell gushed, still hugging him.

“W-what? Let go!” Squall pushed at Zell, who still had a death grip around his waist. “I said, let go!” He finally rapped Zell sharply on the top of his head with the handle of his gunblade. Zell let go and rubbed at the sore spot, grinning sheepishly, then shrinking back slightly at Squall’s icy glare.

The girls caught up to them then, and Quistis started casting cure spells all around. Eventually, they met up with Irvine and Rinoa and battled their way free. 

As they raced away from the desert prison, the only thing that Squall felt in that moment was relief. His body still hurt, the cure spells and potions had healed most of the damage, but he was still sensitive to touch. What he had endured in the prison had left its mark upon him.

He felt a vague regret that the warden, the only other witness to his degradation, had died so quickly. Squall wasn’t a sadist ordinarily, and usually killed quickly and cleanly. But if he’d had the luxury of time, he would have savaged the warden as unmercifully as _he_ had been savaged, and watched as he died slowly and in agony. It wouldn’t heal what was still raw and bleeding in his psyche, he knew, but it would make him feel better.

If he was somewhat different in his behavior and attitude afterward, more remote perhaps, more aloof, the pressure of what had been put upon him as their squad leader could explain it away. But Rinoa wasn’t a SeeD, and she didn’t understand, so she persisted in trying to connect with him. 

It seemed odd to him that as little response as he gave her, she still continued to interact with him. He didn’t understand why she did that, or what she wanted of him. But he couldn’t deny that for some reason, when she gently daubed the abrasions on his face clean and cast the spell that would heal his injuries, that was the closest he came to experiencing true peace. 

It frightened him. Because it could all be taken away again. 

Everyone has a breaking point. A point beyond which there is no recovery, no healing. The mind, the body, the spirit are shattered and are never quite the same again. Sooner or later, every SeeD comes face to face with theirs. Some manage to live with the scars left behind, but many do not. It was a sad fact that it wasn’t always battle that claimed the lives of some SeeDs before their time. 

But despite the warden’s brutality, despite the mental and physical damage Squall suffered, he realized one thing that had been consistent throughout his harrowing ordeal. He’d never given up. He’d fought with everything he had in him, even finding reserves he didn’t think he had. Even while longing for death, he’d fought. 

Yes, the scars left behind by Squall’s stint in the D-district prison would never fade. But Squall took pride in the fact that despite all that he had endured there he had not surrendered. 

_They had not broken him._

No one was unbreakable. Squall knew that. But _this_ time at least, he’d come pretty damn close.


End file.
